“Since this week is Christmas, Jack and I are having a small engagement party for friends on Christmas Eve. You should come, Ellie.”
I glance at Charlie since he hadn’t mentioned the party at all, which he cops to immediately, hands raised defensively.
“I didn’t mention it because I assumed I was in the work doghouse and it was only a fifty/fifty shot I would get out. I will make it work though. Dress code?” Charlie threads his fingers through mine and I worry about needing more new clothes. I’m driven further and further into debt with Charlie, though he never makes me feel it.
Vivian seems to have the same thought. “Ellie, why don’t you come help me set up that day and you can borrow something of mine,” Vivian offers and I am so thankful for it. “We’ve always been a similar size and that doesn’t seem to have changed.”
“Yes, I would love to help out,” I agree, relaxing into my seat.
Having been shamed while I was away from the table, Jack remains quiet until we pay the check and leave. I’m loath to leave Vivian behind after just getting her back, but Jack looks eager to get home. I hug her tightly before we part ways, each in our own PickMeUp!. Vivian promises to send me details for the party, and for a brief moment, it feels like nothing has changed.
I waste no time interrogating Charlie once we’re alone.
“You knew?” I ask, trying to hold back the accusation in my tone.
“I knew,” he says simply, sliding his phone in his jacket pocket. “It was such a weird coincidence and I didn’t want to add more pressure to you seeing her again. The last thing I wanted was for you to go into that brunch feeling like you needed to make nice with Vivian if it turned out that what happened between you was catastrophic. I didn’t know until you showed me her picture in the airport. Jack didn’t fess up about knowing until I texted him once you had your brunch set up. I hated keeping you in the dark, but I wanted you to know you were still making your own choices without my interference.” He takes my hand in his. “My fingerprints are all over your life now. I didn’t want you to feel like Vivian was more a part of me than she was a part of you.”
I lean over and kiss him, my hand firm on his jaw. “I appreciate that, but I do wish you had told me so I didn’t look like a dumbass for not knowing there was this connection.”
“I’m sure you didn’t look like a dumbass.” He’s sweet and I let him go on thinking that.
“You also didn’t need to hit Jack,” I admonish, and he smirks.
“He was being a dick and he knew it. He deserved it. I’ve hit him over much less.”
I squeeze his hand. “While I appreciate you defending my honor, I’m going to have to fight this battle with him on my own. It’s going to be a slow burn with him. Whatever happened, he doesn’t trust me. Did he tell you why he doesn’t like me?” I’m curious if he has a different story from the one that Vivian told me.
“Just that you dropped your friends like hot cakes because of some guy. Vivian didn’t get into too much detail about it. She told Jack she didn’t remember him well. She said she didn’t even meet him.”
“Well, that’s not going to happen again,” I swear.
The chime on Charlie’s phone is like a Pavlovian ring, alerting him to emails he’s been graciously ignoring in favor of happy hour.
Giving him the break he needs to address it, I pull out my phone, deciding to get in some quick online shopping using my own credit cards. Not that we need it, but I order some sex toys and a few teddies online for Christmas. Things are so new with Charlie that I wouldn’t even know what to get him for the holidays. It's a cheap way out, but I think he will enjoy it all the same. I press order as we pull up to the apartment, and I spend the rest of the day holding on to this quiet excitement for things to come.
Chapter 14
Mondaymorningisthefirst time since getting back from Bora Bora that we have to return to our regularly scheduled lives. I hear Charlie’s alarm go off; he’s quick to silence it and get out of bed to change into his workout clothes. When we got ready for bed the night before, Charlie warned me that he was going to be super busy with work, playing catch-up and giving Jack a break before his engagement party. I check the time and see that it’s only four AM. I groan, pulling a pillow over my head to try to go back to bed.
I manage to get sleep in small bursts after that, but what keeps me awake more than anything is the dream that I’m having.
I’m riding my bike, furiously pedaling, trying to keep my emotions together. The rain is falling harder as I remember that we’re getting the edge of a hurricane before it heads back out to sea. I have a small regret as I push myself, but only that I didn’t opt for the subway instead.
The weather and the late hour means that there aren’t going to be as many people on the road, so I take a chance turning the bike down the 97th Street Transverse. It’s tight and can be risky for a bike, but it’s faster if I go this way. I can feel my heart breaking, leaving a breadcrumb trail of itself behind as I pedal harder. My adrenaline rush from what just happened is wearing off. I feel lost, uncertain about what I mean to do with my life now. My head is bent low, and under the brim of my helmet, I can see a large puddle ahead. Living in New York for the last seven years has taught me one important thing: never trust a puddle. You never know how deep it might be. I’m coming at it from a slight downhill, picking up speed. I’m desperate to get home, so I don’t bother with the brakes, swerving to avoid the puddle. Only, I’ve avoided the puddle, but moved right into the path of a car. My only thought as I tumble onto the pavement is that this might be easier than facing the question of tomorrow.
My eyes fly open and I sit up, unable to get the image of the blinding headlights out of my eyes. I’m still seeing spots when Charlie walks into the room, drenched in sweat. A glance at the clock tells me it's only 4:45 AM. His earbuds are still in as he lifts the bottom of his shirt, wiping at his forehead, and then pulling his shirt up and over his head before casting the shirt to the side. Spotting me, he silences his music, a frown tugging his lips down.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asks, his voice a quiet whisper, as if I might be lulled back to sleep. I’m afraid that if I open my mouth to answer I might throw up. So, instead of speaking, I just give a little shake of my head. I’m not sure I can go back to sleep at all, no matter how much I want to. I’m ready to sit and cry, the waves of fear, distress, and pain washing over me, but with Charlie looking at me like that, I can’t let those feelings overtake me. His guilt over what happened is already too much; it has too much of a grip on him. I can’t add to it. I won’t add to it. It is a burden to be shared, but there are moments I catch him watching me limp if I’m tired, a pained look on his face washed away before he thinks I see.
“Is something wrong?” He’s so attuned to my emotions that it makes hiding anything difficult. He lowers himself onto the bed beside me, concern on his face as he pushes hair from my forehead. Feeling the cool air on my skin, I realize that I had been sweating in my sleep. I draw my knees up to my chest, keeping my mouth shut, still not wanting to burden him. He puts his hand on my knee and shakes it a little, a silent plea for me to open up to him. The heartbreak on his face is too much to bear, and I know keeping it from him will only be worse, so I take the leap.
“It was raining super hard because of a hurricane that had worked its way up the coast.” My words are quiet, hanging in the air between us. I don’t have to say any more for him because there hasn’t been a moment where he hasn’t thought about that day. He knows the conditions from that day; he recalls seeing my body lying broken in the street.
“You’re remembering.” It’s a statement, one that has so many implications.
“Pieces. For now, just the accident. I’m remembering some feelings and the accident itself. Nothing before or after.”
“I don’t want you to take offense to this, but I think it would be really good for you if you get a therapist. The doctors mentioned it a few times and you seemed to brush it off, but there are a lot of complicated feelings around what happened. I want you to feel like you’re supported and have a safe space to parcel out what you remember and deal with what you don’t.” He glances at the clock and curses under his breath. “I have to finish getting ready. I’ve got a meeting with my dad first thing and I want to get there before him. Dan is coming over at eight for your PT and I can have my assistant get you a list of trauma therapists if you want.” He twirls a strand of hair around a finger.